


Warrior Song

by bittenfeld



Category: Ginga Eiyuu Densetsu | Legend of the Galactic Heroes
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Male Slash, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-24
Updated: 2015-06-05
Packaged: 2018-04-01 02:20:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4002163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bittenfeld/pseuds/bittenfeld
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kaiser Reinhard’s High Command has a very curious initiation ritual which aspirers must submit to, in order to be accepted into its ranks:  a gay sexual marathon with all the members of the High Command…</p><p>Adalbert von Fahrenheit, recently inducted, now finds himself in the middle of this… interesting… situation… </p><p>Final – Chapter 3:   “You’re mine,” Bittenfeld announces confidently.<br/>“Am I?” Fahrenheit banters.<br/>“You want me as much as I want you.”<br/>“Perhaps.  And perhaps I’m simply checking you out.  Maybe I’ll receive a better offer from someone else later in the week.”<br/>Bittenfeld snorts.  “From who?  Don’t tell me you have a secret craving for that pansy Mecklinger.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Even though through the whole series, Bittenfeld and Fahrenheit hardly ever notice each other, and only have one or two scenes in the entire show where they actually exchange even a mere couple of sentences, it’s totally OBVIOUS that they belong together!! And I’m not the first to see it either. I once came across a doujinshi entitled “Bitten und Fahren”, so someone else noticed their potential as well!
> 
> (and yes, this is where I got my blog-name from…(!) Not so much that Bittenfeld fascinates me, but that I have as much a wild passionate crush on Fahrenheit as he does!)
> 
> And check out Kakomicly's LOGH artwork on deviantART. She's got a lot of "Bitten und Fahren" and all the other pretty boys too!
> 
> http://kakomicly.deviantart.com/art/All-of-his-chocolates-567298730  
> http://kakomicly.deviantart.com/art/Ice-and-Fire-567317987

Twenty-two thirteen.

Twenty-two thirteen, and no visitors in sight. Adalbert von Fahrenheit wondered if that signalled a respite for tonight. Kaiser Reinhard and Admiral Kircheis Wednesday, Feldmarschall Oberstein Thursday – pale blue eyes tightened at that distasteful memory – then Admirals Mittermeyer and Reuental last night. That had been pleasant, but he was tired tonight.

What sounded like a gay man’s ultimate fantasy – a sexual marathon ten nights long, with a different handsome partner each night – could easily become an ordeal, he surmised, particularly after the disillusionment of Oberstein’s assignation. Plus, he was exhausted anyway from another full day of staff meetings planning the upcoming dual invasion of Phezzan and Iserlohn.

He was still wearing his uniform trousers, regulation black velvet, but the tunic he’d exchanged for a lightweight ivory pullover sweater. It matched his shaggy collar-length mane of platinum hair, set off pale blue eyes, and subtly enhanced his lean-muscled chest. Simple but attractive, if any callers arrived.

Already he was being assimilated into Lohengramm’s Oberkommando circle. His affiliation with the Lippschadt Alliance quickly forgiven, Fahrenheit felt honored, not only because of Kaiser Reinhard’s generous invitation to join his High Admirals, but also with the young Kaiser’s listening as intently and respectfully to Fahrenheit’s insights as those of the long-standing staff.

For that respect, and for the merciful dismissal of a potential prison sentence, Reinhard had risen in Fahrenheit’s esteem. The tow-haired admiral had pledged his loyalty to the young blond, and realized full well that he had also pledged his life and his soul.

Now all that remained for complete affiliation into the command circle was the infamous sexual initiation which the Kaiser had decreed. Fahrenheit had heard rumors of the intense ritual, but little had he ever suspected that one day he himself would be taking part. Lord Reinhard demanded a crack team for his Oberkommando: a small select group of the highest ranks, bound utterly to himself and to each other, through loyalty, trust, and respect, through body and through soul. A new inductee would spend a night with each of the admirals, learning, sharing opinions, listening to advice, and finally submitting privately, giving and receiving the ultimate bonding intimacy. Not every man on the staff was gay, nor did the Kaiser demand that – indeed, several were married with families – but anyone homophobic enough to refuse would not be admitted into the Oberkommando.

And no one on the outside ridiculed them, because without a doubt, Kaiser Reinhard had created a superb unequalled team to spearhead his expansion throughout the galaxy.

Twenty-two twenty-four.

Fahrenheit slouched on the sofa. He’d give any visitor until twenty-thirty to appear, but then he was going to bed. Alone.

At twenty-two twenty-six the doorbell rang.

With a tight smile, both of anticipation and wariness, Fahrenheit rose to greet his guest.

Fritz Josef Bittenfeld stood in the hallway, a bottle of Chianti and two glasses in hand, and greeted cheerily, “I hope you’re alone.”

Fahrenheit’s smile shifted to mild amusement. “As a matter of fact,” he admitted, stepping aside, “I assumed I would be alone all evening.”

“Not a chance,” the handsome admiral crowned by a wild halo of fiery orange hair countered, entering the sparsely decorated apartment. “I’m sorry I’m late, but I never stand up my dates.” And proffering the wine to his host, the visitor led the way to the couch.

Fahrenheit noted the label. “Rosenkreuz 467. You have good taste.”

Palming a corkscrew from his pocket, Bittenfeld opened the bottle and poured two glasses. “So do you – this is your preference, isn’t it? Your adjutant was perfectly willing to impart that information, after I offered him a case of his favorite.”

Fahrenheit cocked an eyebrow. “So that’s how easily Hauptmann Sanders is bribed. Perhaps a note should be entered into his personnel file.” He raised his glass for a toast. “Auf die Göttes.”

To which Bittenfeld added, “Auf Loki und Hodur – may the gods of fire and ice watch us tonight with envy.”

“That’s an audacious boast,” the cool tow-headed admiral noted, sipping the full-bodied red wine.

Bittenfeld winked and gestured his glass toward the other man. “But not an unreasonable one, I trust.” He too drank, relaxed back into the cushions. A high-necked green silk blouse draped a well-formed physique; grey slacks encased long legs crossed at the knees.

Fahrenheit felt a warmth kindle in his groin. He’d noticed Bittenfeld before – in fact, when the tattered remnants of the Lippschadt force had been rounded up, it was Bittenfeld who had politely, formally, served the arrest warrant on him. But now in these informal surroundings with intimacy nearby, he found himself noticing just how handsome and attractive the flame-haired man was. Indeed, they were almost a match for each other, he considered un-self-consciously: both tall and slender, with fine elegantly handsome features. Tendrils of anticipation teased his groin, his solar plexus. He wondered how good this man would prove in bed.

Suddenly he realized his assessing gaze was matched by clear crystal green eyes, but he felt no pressure to look away. No doubt Bittenfeld was sizing up his potential as well.

Placing his drink on the coffee table, the newcomer interrupted the mutual appraisal to inquire, “So, how have you fared so far? I hope Feldmarschall Oberstein was unable to completely stifle your anticipation for the rest of the week.”

Fahrenheit shook his head. The liquor warmed his throat, eased its way down his belly. “I’ve recovered sufficiently. I am not… unfamiliar… with men of his caliber and preferences; however, I don’t share those preferences myself.”

Bittenfeld snorted softly. “Well, it’s regrettable that the Kaiser always allows that damned cur first shot. Frequently afterwards, the initiate loses his enthusiasm for the rest of us.”

“Well, I survived, with at least some enthusiasm left intact,” Fahrenheit assured.

“Who else has visited you?”

“Last night, Mittermeyer and Reuental, although Admiral Mittermeyer begged off the bedroom, and Admiral Reuental took only three minutes. But that was a relief after Feldmarschall Oberstein’s endurance test the night before.”

Bittenfeld chuckled. “It’s well-known that Mittermeyer prefers to save his spunk for that pretty little wife of his. And Oskar von Reuental has balls of ice. Although that exotic devil has captured the hearts of all of the ladies at court – and more that a few of the men’s as well – he has a reputation of loving and leaving. Usually within the hour. Some of us suspect that he actually prefers the company of his own right hand.”

Fahrenheit hid a smile against the rim of the wine glass. Another swallow filled his mouth. He had to acknowledge the truth of Bittenfeld’s words – the fantasy of a lingering tryst with the exotic lean black-haired Reuental had teased the edges of his mind all day today; the tantalizing image of those strange entrancing bi-colored eyes dazed by orgasm had whispered lingering promises along his own cock.

“And of course, you’ve enjoyed the pleasures of His Highness Kaiser Reinhard and High Admiral Kircheis,” Bittenfeld commented, and grinned. “By the gods! – any man with this taste at all would sell his soul for one chance with the two of them. That red-headed beauty can make a man come in his pants by just a glance and a smile. I’m sure they took you well.”

“Mm.” Indeed, Fahrenheit had been taken well and deeply. Neither Reuental’s exotic sensuality nor Oberstein’s little nastiness could supplant the rich memories of sharing an entire evening and night in the royal bedchamber with golden-maned Kaiser Reinhard himself, along with the prince’s beautiful long-time lover, he of the rose-red curls, Siegfried Kircheis.

Then, intently, green eyes shifted to Fahrenheit’s ice-blue, and Bittenfeld’s body language quickened as he leaned closer, manner alert and direct. “But actually, I didn’t come here to speak of Oberstein or Reuental, or even the Kaiser,” he admitted. “Instead, I have a proposition for you.”

“Oh?” Crossing his knees, Fahrenheit leaned back against the sofa, and studied the man beside him. “And what proposition is that?”

Bittenfeld freshened their drinks. “I’ve read your personnel file. You’re noted to have homosexual proclivities…”

Fahrenheit shrugged blasé acknowledgement.

“…But no permanent partner was listed.”

“That’s right.”

Green-eyed gaze focussed directly. “How would you like that to change?”

Fahrenheit blinked, sat up a little.

Sensual lips smiled. “Since you’re starting a new life with new associates, new duties, new loyalties, why not take a new lover as well? Guarantee a warm bed every night and a satisfied cock.”

His own wine glass suddenly capturing his fascination, Fahrenheit queried, “And, uh, did you have any candidates in mind?”

“Just one.” Those green eyes flickered playfully. “Me.”

Fahrenheit lingered over the last swallow of liquor, considering. “We hardly know each other.”

“We’ll know each other every well by the end of the night.”

“But you were the one who arrested me.”

The handsome orange-haired man only shrugged. “Such are the vagaries of war. I’ll confess, while you were in my custody, I got to thinking how much I’d like to keep you that way.”

“Oh?” Steadily Fahrenheit eyed his visitor, and questioned, “Why? You have me all to yourself tonight, for one night, to do whatever you wish, and I must submit to your every whim. Isn’t that enough to satisfy you?”

Elbow resting on the back of the couch, Bittenfeld propped his head on a fist, matching his host’s steady gaze. “No,” he answered succinctly. “A one-night stand, or even a week or two isn’t what I have in mind for us. I want more than that. A lot more.”

“But why? Of all the other men and women you could easily choose from, why me?”

Another shrug. ”Look in the mirror. You’re a very attractive man – as attractive as I am.”

“Ah. Is that it.”

“And your battle record is superb. Your specialty, like mine, is blitzkrieg warfare and quick flexible deployment mobility. That triple-prong attack against the rebels in the battle of Londar was near-genius. That very nearly caused Admiral Yang to surrender his entire fleet to you.”

“Well, it’s just as well he didn’t.” Fahrenheit smiled to himself, pleased that this man would have taken an interest in his battle record. “Had I taken Admiral Yang down, I fear Kaiser Reinhard would never have forgiven me for stealing his prize out from under him.”

Now Bittenfeld slid closer, arm along the back of the sofa, slipping behind Fahrenheit’s shoulder. Gaze dropped to Nordic lips, and Bittenfeld’s deep voice murmured, “Well, _I_ may never forgive you if you turn down my proposal.”

“Oh, really,” Fahrenheit bandied. “Of course, you’re assuming that I’m as attracted to you as you seem to be toward me.”

Bittenfeld only smiled, a tiny dry self-assured quirk of lips, and confided, “At my initiation, _nobody_ begged off.”

“Probably because the Kaiser decreed that since he’d had to put up with you, everyone else would too, under threat of bodily punishment,” Fahrenheit surmised mildly.

Bittenfeld winced over a wry grin. “Ooh, a sense of humor too. My cup runneth over.”

As Fahrenheit shifted his position, soft flaxen silk brushed against the arm stretched behind him. The orange-haired man took that as a clue to move closer, and leaned in, gaze resting gently on slightly parted lips.

In welcome, the pale blue eyes lidded half-way, and rosen lips opened further.

And Bittenfeld’s mouth appropriated the invitation, covered the firm welcoming lips, while the hand resting behind reached up for a fistful of ivory silk. A noise moaned in Bittenfeld’s throat.

Then Fahrenheit’s arms slipped around the visitor’s body, drew the man to himself, allowed entrance. And Bittenfeld took presumptions; tongue thrust into Fahrenheit’s mouth, exploring tongue, teeth, probing intimately, a prelude for further intimacies to follow.

Willingly Fahrenheit sucked on the invader, his own tongue sliding against, dancing with Bittenfeld’s. Then combing fingers into orange tresses, he tugged Bittenfeld’s head back, interrupting the kiss, only to plant his lips on a strong throat and suck the ridge of muscle.

Bittenfeld gasped in sudden surging arousal, hips lifting an inch, as his cock sought that precious sucking for itself. Only when the assault ended, could he speak again, smiling contentedly. “So,” he entreated, “does this mean you’ll accept my proposal?”

“It means,” – Fahrenheit broke contact to rise up off the couch – “I won’t give you an answer now. But if indeed we become well enough acquainted tonight, I shall inform you of my decision tomorrow morning.”

Bittenfeld grinned, stood up too. “Well, then, by all means, let’s initiate proceedings and observe if my strategy passes the test.”

Strolling down the hallway, Bittenfeld enjoyed the view of the man ahead of him, appreciative gaze roaming from shaggy silken towhead mane, over well-muscled shoulders and back, down firm hips and long legs.

“You know,” Bittenfeld commented, “while you were in my custody, I thought about strip-searching you. I tried to come up with a good excuse to conduct a full-body exam on you in private.”

“So why didn’t you?”

“Because I knew that, given the chance, I’d’ve screwed your brains out.”

“So,” – the blond reiterated with a sly glance – “why didn’t you?” and Bittenfeld grinned.

“Mm, why didn’t you give me an excuse? … At any rate, for tonight I have been ordered expressly to do just that.” Abruptly a hand gripped Fahrenheit’s shoulder, while another arm slid around his chest, interrupting him in mid-stride. Lips kissed an exposed earlobe, as a deep voice assured, “And I never forsake my duty.”

Wet tongue slid all around the edge of the ear. Fahrenheit groaned, grabbed the door jamb of the bedroom. Bittenfeld just purred. “I’m an excellent soldier. I follow orders with _great_ enthusiasm.” Fingers brushed up the back of Fahrenheit’s pull-over, explored smooth cool skin beneath, slid up the channel of his spine.

A tiny quiver of arousal skittered through surface muscles, and the blond moaned again. The fingertips trailed little sparks of excitement as they slid up and down his spine.   He was certainly not unused to being handled like this, but his nerves seemed particularly sensitive tonight.

“And I understand,” he noted with uneven breath, “that the Kaiser appoints only the finest soldiers to his Oberkommando.”

Bittenfeld kissed his nape beneath the shag of platinum hair. “Absolutely. And we all serve the Kaiser eagerly,” – another kiss – “any way we are bidden.” Now the hand on Fahrenheit’s shoulder slipped around his chest underneath the thin sweater-top, thumb and forefinger found a little nipple, fondled it, rolled it, pinched it.

The blond’s body pushed against the teasing stimulation, squirming sensually. But instead of continuing, the fingers took their time to caress up and down the sternum. One last pass of feather-touch over the little nub of flesh to ascertain its swelling hardness, then both groping hands pushed beneath the waistband of black velvet slacks, under the fly, as far as they could grope without unfastening and unzipping. Just enough to discover a few coarse pubic curls and press on a firm flat abdomen to force taut buttocks back against Bittenfeld’s swelling flesh.

A deep rumble vibrated in Bittenfeld’s throat, his hardening cock nudging Fahrenheit’s private cleft, desirously hot to push through interfering material and kiss its soft velvety tip to a certain tight little pucker. One hand slid around Fahrenheit’s chest again, while the other attempted to gain another inch of purchase down inside the front of black trousers.

But two hands grasped his wrists, checked the surreptitious invasion, and a soft voice warned, “If you go any further, we won’t make it to the bedroom. Do you intend to do it right here in the doorway, or would you like to go to bed?”

Bittenfeld just hugged tighter, planted a wet kiss on the side of a firm neck, and purred with delight. “mm…choices… choices…” But after one more promising wriggle of groin to ass, he straightened up and rested his hands on Fahrenheit’s shoulders again. “Very well, Admiral, let’s establish base camp in the bedroom.”

“I concur, Admiral.”

“…and then later we’ll practice maneuvers on the hallway floor… and the sofa… and the dining room table…”

“Have you already planned our entire evening’s agenda?”

“Mm, I never go into battle unprepared.”

Entering the bedroom, Fahrenheit gestured admission to his guest. “Then shall we get down to business, discussing the finer points of your strategy, Kommandant?”

“Let’s do that,” the orange-haired man agreed, and pressing a hand to the small of his lover’s back, strolled with him into the chamber. “By all means.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 _to be continued_ …

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sitting on the edge of the bed, Bittenfeld smiled up at the handsome youngish ivory-haired man who stood before him. Appreciative hands slid down Fahrenheit’s velvet-clad hips and thighs. Embers of desire flickered deep within emerald eyes, and a command whispered huskily:  
> “Take off your clothes. I want to see you naked.”

Only a dark walnut bed, chair, dresser, nightstand, and wardrobe stood in the functional but spartan room. Now that he was a member of the Kaiser’s Oberkommando, Fahrenheit would move some personal belongings from the family manor to furnish and decorate his assigned apartments here in the official palace.

But for tonight, the present furnishing would suffice for the purpose.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Bittenfeld smiled up at the handsome youngish ivory-haired man who stood before him. Appreciative hands slid down Fahrenheit’s velvet-clad hips and thighs. Desirous lips touched gently promising kisses to a long hard bulge in front, while the sensual black silk velvet caressed his lips in return. Then releasing his hold, Bittenfeld leaned back on his elbows upon the forest-green silk feather quilt. Embers of desire flickered deep within emerald eyes, and a command whispered huskily:

“Take off your clothes. I want to see you naked.”

A tiny smile teased over Fahrenheit’s lips. Then gripping the hem of the thin clinging garment, he pulled it up the pale hairless body, off lean muscled shoulders, over the head. Platinum silk hair ruffled as the material drifted to pale green carpet. He deliberately performed the divestment for an audience to watch.

And Bittenfeld watched appreciatively.

Next, unzipping the trouser fly, Fahrenheit’s fingers slipped lightly over his own hardness, sensually, seductively, before reaching up to the waistband.

In response, Bittenfeld’s touch sought out his own bulge, his own hot flesh swelling beneath grey material. Suddenly his trousers had become uncomfortably restrictive. But he would not relieve the discomfort yet. Not yet. Just a caress, a squeeze, a promise.

Fahrenheit smiled; then without pulling down the slacks, one hand left the waistband. The expression on Bittenfeld’s face shifted from slight disappointment to interested curiosity.

Instead, the meandering fingers slid down inside the front of black velvet, caressed their owner’s flesh, massaged it, brought it up a little longer, a little harder. And all the while, Fahrenheit’s amused gaze watched Bittenfeld’s pupils dilate in arousal; and Bittenfeld’s grip squeezed his own bulk again, knees lolled apart, while his tongue licked lips suddenly gone dry.

Then having caused the desired result, Fahrenheit pulled his trousers and underwear down the long slender legs, and stepped out of them. A casual toss deposited the garments on top of the discarded sweater.

And there he stood: a Nordic god in the flesh, pale as the ice deity, lithe and lean as a Skaldic warrior. Pearl skin, untouched by the sun, glowed with the exquisite pale blue translucence of fine porcelain; ash blond silk whispered over forehead and nape; shimmering eyes, the milky ice-blue of winter skies, regarded his singular audience with a tiny flicker of amusement.

And out of its nest of blond curls stood a hard beautiful column of flesh, dusky rose, patterned delicately with fine blue veins. One pearl droplet quivered at the tip.

And sensual lips asked one question: “Is your strategy proceeding as planned, Admiral?”

Bittenfeld just smiled, eyes half-closed dreamily. “Mmm… better.” And reaching a hand to the buttons of his already partly-opened blouse, he began to undress himself.

“No.” Fahrenheit interrupted with one quiet word. Then kneeling between the other man’s spread knees, he reached for the buttons himself. Again Bittenfeld leaned back on his elbows, allowing his partner full access.

But before opening the garments, the blond just leaned forward, face close to green silk. Warm breath whispered across Bittenfeld’s partially bared chest. A ragged moan escaped Bittenfeld’s throat as warm moist lips caressed chest through the silk. The feather-weight material slipped over his sensitized skin, light as butterfly wings. Lips kissed again and again over the silk, discovered a hard little nipple through the material and fastened on; a probing wet tongue fondled the little tit; saliva leaked through the cloth to moisten the tiny bit of swelling flesh.

At that, Bittenfeld sank back on the bed and groaned aloud, “Gott im Himmel!”

Fahrenheit just followed him, lying half on top now. Of their own accord, Bittenfeld’s hands took the other man’s head, fingers entwining in silken strands, and he moaned again, “… Ahh… mein Gott…”

Fahrenheit didn’t pause, but continued the gentle torment. Carefully he unfastened the remaining buttons, then pushed the blouse off Bittenfeld’s shoulders and partway down his arms. Fingers and lips shifted to bare skin. Wet tongue traced a quivering erotic trail up the sternum. Teeth discovered the same nipple, now bared, and bit lightly but firmly, while the tongue played all over the captured hard little nub.

Desperately Bittenfeld arched up, wanting that. And wanting so much more.

At the response, Fahrenheit released the little captive, and sank back to his knees. Boots and socks discarded, he attended to the grey trousers. Raw silk, so sensual to the touch, so seductive. In the center, a hard bulk strained desperately. Fahrenheit just studied it for a moment of anticipation, a moment of torment. Another moan from Bittenfeld.

Carefully the zipper opened. Slowly Fahrenheit worked the material down. The hard column of flesh sprang free from its confinement, swayed a little. One gentle kiss to the shaft which lurched Bittenfeld’s hips up, then Fahrenheit returned to the undressing. Slacks were peeled down and off long slender legs and tossed onto the growing pile of clothes. Underpants followed.

Fahrenheit paused to survey the man lying before himself in splendid exhibition. Ruddy skin, glowing with health, spangled with light sweat, Bittenfeld’s body awaited him. Almost hairless, save for a few swirls around hard rose nipples and a trail down the belly to the reddish pubic thatch in which nested the swollen cock. Fahrenheit smiled.

“Suck it,” Bittenfeld moaned, offering the prize freely.

Fahrenheit only smiled, continuing his study of the whole prize before him. Only the shirt remained, spread open against the comforter, lighter green against darker, framing the sleek muscular torso. Gaze travelled up the breasts, the shoulders, the sturdy neck, to the handsome face, smiling lips, half-lidded emerald-chip eyes, to the glorious spread of orange corona flame against green silk, a wild glow of captured sunlight.

“Suck it…” those lips and emerald eyes commanded softly again. “Suck it hard.”

Obligingly Fahrenheit returned his focus to the rose-purple cock straining toward him. Fingers gripped the thick rigid organ, brought it closer for Fahrenheit’s examination. Glimmering wetness bubbled out the slit, begging to be tasted, oozed down the shaft. The gripping hand made one tight pull, all the way down and all the way up.

“… Yesss… “ Bittenfeld breathed. The penis twitched of its own accord, and another droplet of pearlescence dribbled out.

But still Fahrenheit hesitated.   Tongue-tip peeked out, considering.

“Do it… c’mon, do it…”

That seemed to make up the other man’s mind. “All right,” the tow-head abruptly agreed. Then Fahrenheit’s mouth descended, and in one thrust, deep-throated the thing.

“Gaaa!!…” Incoherent response burst from Bittenfeld’s throat, and his hips lurched up.

One long lingering suck from base to tip, while Fahrenheit’s tongue slathered wet trails all over the hot flesh. Deep torturing suction all the way up, then a quick little probe of the hole itself.

“… Gott…!!” the willing victim swore helplessly. Incredible sensation swirled, coalesced. One more suck like that, and Bittenfeld’s world would explode.

But then, impertinently, the teasing mouth slid off, and wouldn’t return. The gripping hand suddenly, firmly, squeezed the shaft, pushing down against the heavy swollen testicle sac, forcing back the impending explosion.

“… ahh… mein Gott…!” was all that Bittenfeld could moan, trying desperately to squirm, ramming uselessly for friction. But nothing would persuade Fahrenheit to continue.

Instead Fahrenheit’s free hand bent up one of Bittenfeld’s knees, exposing one taut buttock, slapped it sharply. A yelp tore from Bittenfeld’s lips, and his body jerked, which only earned him another harder fiery whack on tender flesh.

“Ohh!” he protested, jerking again, but his tormentor just held him down. The probing fingers explored the dark sweaty cleavage, appropriating intimacies, and there discovered the target: a nice tight little pucker just begging to be opened. Teasingly the fingers rubbed all around the outside of the little muscle ring, played with it, promised special pleasures, while Fahrenheit carefully watched his lover’s face for a response.

Then one finger pushed in forcibly. All the way in.

Bittenfeld roared. His whole body lurched. “… Ohh!… Gott!!…”

Fahrenheit just smiled. Again, another thrust in, then rubbing all around inside, teasing sensitive nerves, feeling all the way in there, sliding against hot slick walls, twisting in and out. And all the while, pressure against the base of the captive penis thwarted its hot need.

“Do you like this?” Fahrenheit teased softly. “Is it good for you, mein Liebhaber?” and received the obvious answer of Bittenfeld’s throaty moans and suggestive squirming on the fucking finger.

“… ohh…” Bittenfeld groaned, trying to regather his precerebral thoughts, focus those thoughts into actual words. Desperately he gripped the wrists of those teasing hands, finally coerced them to release him. Then rising up off the bed, he pulled Fahrenheit close until a mere inch parted soft lips. Gaze dropped to those lips, and a steamy sultry voice promised in husky erotic taunting words, “I’ll show you what’s good for me, _mein Liebhaber!…_ ” And his lips met those, and together they kissed, tongued, nipped, forced into surrendering mouths.

Until Bittenfeld broke contact suddenly, a wickedly playful glint in those emerald eyes. And grabbing hold of strong shoulders, he twisted the two of them around, then threw Fahrenheit face-down on the bed, climbed on top of him, and pinned him helplessly. One hand slapped Fahrenheit’s buttocks hotly, then forced them apart for a thick rigid cock to nudge into the cleavage. Teeth nipped an earlobe. “You’ll learn what’s good for me, _mein Liebhaber!…_ ”

Face turned to the side, Fahrenheit only purred a throaty response, and spread his legs wide, offering all he had to the man on top.

Involuntarily Bittenfeld’s body responded before he was even in, rubbing up and down the cleft, leaking pre-sem, while his tongue and teeth worked on the side of Fahrenheit’s neck.

One hand on Fahrenheit’s shoulder, the other on his own cock, trying to push it into the opening. The muscle ring was tight, so delightful to his tender cockhead. Both hands took Fahrenheit’s buttocks, forced them apart, then his organ slid home. A tiny chuckle of satisfaction as he felt his thick flesh sink into an already well-lubed rectum, the grease very warm from the excited heat of the blond’s body.

Eagerly Fahrenheit pushed back against the raping cock to take it up the ass, and moaned with satisfaction as he was filled, spine arched, head thrown back. Slowly Bittenfeld withdrew all the way to the corona, while Fahrenheit tightened down and made him work for every inch. Sweat beaded, slicked both their bodies. Tiny guttural grunts burst from Bittenfeld’s throat, as the hot ass opened for him again, and he rammed back home again. Coherent thought broke down; he felt the cataclysm gather.   Erotically Fahrenheit squirmed against him, squeezing and relaxing, squeezing and relaxing, caught in the whirlwind as well.

Then mindlessness swept over, and Bittenfeld rammed and rammed, balls convulsed, and hot semen squirted out… he couldn’t help himself… coursed down the channel of his penis, and ejected into Fahrenheit’s body. Fingers clutched the white hips beneath him, forcing the ass to take him all the way, raping the strong submissive body offered to him. White lightning exploded in his brain, as another jolt of fluid shot from his cock in the hardest orgasm he could remember, exquisite sensation zapping down from his brain and up from his curled toes to the center of his being, a surge of glorious white light.

Fahrenheit cried out, so close to coming, but not quite there, inundated by wave after wave of pleasure and pain from his stretched anus, as the assault bounced the mattress beneath their combined weights. Aching hot fire burned in his throbbing cock and balls. Mercilessly the attack frictioned his penis against the satin comforter, almost beyond the point of tolerance. But he needed to get his hand down there to crest the peak, and he couldn’t while Bittenfeld’s body pinned him to the bed.

Finally Bittenfeld slowed, his testicles relieving the last of their juices. Stiffly he pushed his upper body off the man beneath. Breath panted from his open mouth, sweat dropped onto his lover’s glistening back. A few more half-hearted thrusts – he hated to break contact so soon! – inside the warm slippery sheath, then he pulled out and collapsed beside his lover, weak and panting. Already he could feel his cock softening and shrinking. Chest heaved, each breath a moan of utter satisfaction.

Beside him, Fahrenheit moaned as well, but his grunts still expressed desperate hunger. Raising his hips, he reached under himself and took hold of his flesh. He was so close to coming – so close. Just a few good thrusts…

A hand touched his arm; one word interrupted. “No.”

Helplessly Fahrenheit groaned. “Please…”

Lazily, contentedly, Bittenfeld smiled. “You were ordered to submit to the rest of us, weren’t you?”

Fahrenheit’s shoulders slumped. “Yes,” he had to admit.

“Then I’m giving you a direct order not to touch yourself.”

Another desperate moan, quiver of taut muscles. ”Please… I have to…”

“I’m ordering you to hold it in… until I can do _this…_ ” And so saying, Bittenfeld turned around on the bed, positioning his face close to the heavy swollen rose-red genitals, and lightly kissed the leaking velvet head.

Now it was Fahrenheit’s turn to moan. “… ahh… Gott…”

The warm wet muscular tongue swirled about the head, prodded a firm line up and down the underside vein; then a very presumptuous tongue-tip squirmed into the moist slit. Fingers curled about the shaft, holding it steady, forcing the head against the intruder, squeezed the hole open a little further for the tongue-tip to squirm just a fraction of an inch inside.

Fahrenheit almost melted in the delectable sensation of mock penetration. More mucus bubbled up the channel, which Bittenfeld licked up eagerly and swallowed. Another pulse up the shaft.

Fahrenheit couldn’t hold back, writhing and trembling, hips starting to thrust forcibly. The first jolt of orgasm zapped his brain. Helplessly he moaned, arched up as sensation soared…

…and was abruptly cut off by a tight squeeze at the base of his cock. The moan of ecstasy transmuted into a yowl of protest. Insistently he tried to continue thrusting to recapture the disappearing sensation, to no avail. His penis remained a helpless captive in this lover’s grip. “Please,” he begged, “hurry… how long are you going to keep this up?”

Bittenfeld just smiled a naughty little smile, then swiped another presumptuous little lick across the angry dark-red cockhead, and announced simply, “I’m in no hurry. I’ve already come. I can keep this up for a long time now.”

“Fuck you,” Fahrenheit retorted blandly.

A little shake of orange head. “Nope. Not that either.”

Torturingly, fingernails scratched lightly up and down his inner thighs. Fahrenheit writhed. Tiny spidery sensations tingled right into his cock and balls. Hips bucked. “Please,” the white-haired man begged again.

A fingertip found his anus, massaged tiny circles. “How badly do you want it?” his tormentor inquired, and pushed one finger through the sensitive muscle ring just to the first knuckle, wriggled it inside just a little bit.

“Damn you.”

One eyebrow cocked. “That wasn’t a relevant answer. You must not want it very much.” The fingers which curled about his cock, now shifted further down to heft his scrotal sac, poke and push his balls around inside, while the finger up his ass pushed in one knuckle deeper, and continued its explorative wriggling inside his rectum.

Almost of its own accord, Fahrenheit’s ass pushed down against the erotic pressure to take the probe deeper. Sparks flickered behind his eyes. “Please,” he gasped again, “Suck me, fuck me, screw me, I don’t care, just let me come… please!!…”

At that, both hands hesitated, then the flame-haired man acquiesced, “All right… if it means that much to you. Let’s just see how much juice we can suck out of this thing.”

Then a hot wet mouth descended on a hot throbbing cock, and sucked hard. Simultaneously two long fingers rammed into his rectum. Sensation screamed down all his limbs, exploded in his brain; and Fahrenheit yelled. Vigorously he writhed, forcing his shaft all the way into the vacuum of the other man’s mouth, and taking both fingers all the way up himself. The digits found his prostate and manipulated it. Harder and faster they rammed in and out, every thrust directed at his prostate, while tongue and teeth and lips worked his penis relentlessly.

The world exploded. Hoarsely Fahrenheit screamed. Hot cream spurted out his channel into his lover’s mouth. Reflexively fingers clutched the bed-clothes. Another hard squirt down Bittenfeld’s throat.

A low rumble of contentment purred deep in Bittenfeld’s chest as he eagerly drank down his lover’s cum. With his fingers deeply impaling Fahrenheit’s beautiful sleek body, he let the shaft slide almost all the way of his mouth, poked his tongue-tip into the hole one more time, then plunged his mouth all the way down again.

Fahrenheit yelled, groin ramming up to meet the assault; and one last hot blast jolted from his testicles down the channel of his penis, into his lover’s eager mouth. A wail keened from his throat, trailed into little grunts and whimpers, while the fading sensation lingered through a few more desperate thrusts, weakening little by little, until the last sensation wisped away and evaporated, and he collapsed back onto the bed bonelessly.

Heavy breath dragged in and out, heart thudded.

“Ah… Gott…” he whispered weakly.

“Not bad,” Bittenfeld critiqued, a little smile quirking the corner of his lips, twinkling in his eye. He crawled up his lover’s body, planted a juicy cum-slicked kiss on Fahrenheit’s lips, then rolled to the side. “Not bad at all.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 _to be continued_ …


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’re mine,” Bittenfeld announces confidently.   
> “Am I?” Fahrenheit banters.  
> “You want me as much as I want you.”  
> “Perhaps. And perhaps I’m simply checking you out. Maybe I’ll receive a better offer from someone else later in the week.”  
> Bittenfeld snorts. “From who? Don’t tell me you have a secret craving for that pansy Mecklinger.”

A little glance to the side to survey his gasping, panting lover. “So,” he ventured, “why don’t you give me your answer right now? There’s no reason to wait ‘til morning. Tell me yes now. C’mon.”

“Ohh…” Fahrenheit groaned, oxygen-starved lungs dragging air desperately, “well, you passed the first two tests… you know how to ream an ass right on target… and you give pretty fair head…”

At that Bittenfeld lurched up. “Pretty fair! I’ll bet you’ve never been drained like that before.”

A limp head lolled to the side, a weak smile played across a sleepy face. “You’re quite confi­dent of yourself, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I am. And?”

Fingers slid into orange tresses. “And I’ll give you my answer in the morning. Goodnight.” And so saying, the ice god settled into a comfortable position, spoon-fashion, and closed his eyes. In less than a minute, his breathing quieted into unconscious rhythm.

Happily Bittenfeld snuggled in. This was right where he wanted to be. “Hey,” he whispered into soft silk. “Hey.”

But there was no answer.

Ah well. So, he had passed phase one. When Fahrenheit next awoke, they would begin phase two. In the meantime, he’d nap a little too, and regain his strength. In fact, in the excitement, he hadn’t realized just how sleepy he really was…

He was not in his own bed. A big yawn, a couple of blinks. How long had he been asleep? Beside him, Fahrenheit still slept peacefully, respirations light and even.

Bittenfeld smiled. No, he was definitely not in his own bed. Not with this gorgeous Nordic god lying beside him. Moonlight silvered pale hair, pale skin. Gently Bittenfeld reached out a finger to touch. Not to awaken, but just to caress, indulge in a private pleasure. If only this man was his.

And perhaps, if miracles still occurred, that just might happen.

Bittenfeld didn’t consider himself the meditative philosophical type in the least. It was not his temperament to analyze why he knew this man should be his life-mate – beyond the obvious hot physi­cal arousal, of course. He simply knew, as surely as the subliminal sense of assurance he trus­ted on the Tiger. The almost imperceptible vibration of its finely-balanced engines thrumming in harmonic resonance, humming through its decks, and there was just a rightness about it.

The residue of Fahrenheit’s cum had dried on his lips. Sensually he licked the lingering salty musky trace. Göttes, the taste made him hard again!

Propping himself on one elbow, he studied this beautiful man. Worshipful fingers feather-touched porcelain skin. Well, if not forever, at least for tonight this body, this man, belonged to him. Gently he teased a nipple. It swelled at his touch, and its owner moaned softly in his sleep. Again Bittenfeld smiled. The light touch moved down further, stroked firm breasts, taut flat belly, to the soft limp little piece of flesh that nestled in its downy bed.

Grasp and squeeze, ever so gently. Grasp and squeeze. Down deep to two soft lumps the size of muscat grapes. He handled them, hefted them, jostled them in their thin wrinkled sac, squeezed their spongy softness. Gött! an electric thrill jagged up his spine. Right now he was in complete con­trol of Fahrenheit’s tenderest part. Ahh, his own flesh swelled harder.

Even in sleep, Fahrenheit must have sensed his sensual tormentor. Again he moaned, and his body shifted. And once again, his cock started to swell with blood.

Carefully Bittenfeld drew a steadying breath. One quick glance away from his lover to the bedside clock. Oh-thirty-seven. Time to initiate phase two.

A little nibble to an unprotected earlobe, a tiny kiss, and a husky sultry whisper:

“Wach auf, Dornröschen.”

And for a little added emphasis, he pumped his hips just a little, just enough to rub the length of his cock up and down between those beautiful ass cheeks.

“Unhh!” Fahrenheit grunted, jerking abruptly, then responded more coherently, “I’m awake, I’m awake.” Another moan and a grimace as he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. “What time is it?”  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~

_(the rest of this is not fully written out yet)_

Then they sleep together, arms around each other. After their hard climaxes, they’re both out cold. A few hours later, Bittenfeld awakens. He likes to snuggle, cuddle. “You’re mine… you’re mine…” he whispers, almost like an unconscious mantra. His light kisses and caresses wake Fahren­heit. Bittenfeld confides that he always sleeps much better when there’s someone in bed with him, whom he can fall asleep holding. And he would very much like for that someone to be Fahrenheit from now on. Fahrenheit says he thought Bittenfeld really only wanted him to fuck his ass. Bitten­feld admits he likes that very much as well, and he intends to do it a couple more times tonight.

In fact, he’s recovered enough to do it again right now. Like he’s said earlier, he has several venues in mind. And tugging Fahrenheit out of bed, he draws him into the dinette, has him get up onto the table, face up, knees drawn up, buttocks at the table edge. Bittenfeld stands there and plows Fahrenheit’s rear. In that position, every thrust focusses pressure against Fahrenheit’s prostate. Fah­ren­heit goes wild, back arched, sweaty, head thrown back, panting through his open mouth. Vigor­ously he pumps himself, wantonly writhing on the penetrating ram, meeting each thrust eagerly. Bittenfeld delights in Fahrenheit’s pleasures, watching his lover’s face, dazed expression. They work together harder and harder, until Bittenfeld shoots up Fahrenheit’s ass, and Fahrenheit squirts, splat­tering himself and Bittenfeld. That delights Bittenfeld no end. And as they’re slowing down, Bitten­feld gathers his friend’s cum on his fingers, then sucks the fingers sensually while Fahrenheit smiles. Then he scoops up some more and puts his fingers into Fahrenheit’s mouth, slipping the fingers in and out, suggestively, gently, finger-fucking the other man’s mouth. Eagerly Fahrenheit sucks, laps up his own semen. And the picture is so erotic, that Bittenfeld realizes he’s going to come again without even trying. And again he’s repeating, “you’re mine… you’re mine…”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Afterwards, they go back to bed or maybe one draws the other over to the sofa and they curl up together under a throw. Either they sleep or maybe talk a little.

“You’re mine,” Bittenfeld announces confidently.

“Am I?” Fahrenheit banters.

“You want me as much as I want you.”

“Perhaps. And perhaps I’m simply checking you out. Maybe I’ll receive a better offer from someone else later in the week.”

Bittenfeld snorts. “From who? Don’t tell me you have a secret craving for that pansy Meck­lin­ger, or maybe Kempf. Kempf’s a big blustery bear, and Mecklinger’s idea of a hot time is to sit up all night listening to Wagnerian operas and discussing the finer points of Schopenhauer’s philosophy. You’re not going to get a better offer. Don’t even waste your time thinking about it.”

“Admiral Kircheis said that Mecklinger is an excellent field commander and is very good in bed, too,” Fahrenheit teases.

Bittenfeld just groans. “Fine, if it’ll turn you on, next time I’ll recite an hour of Goethe.”

“And then fuck my ass.”

“And then fuck your ass.” With a smile, Bittenfeld then slides a possessive arm around Fah­ren­heit’s shoulders, and they kiss some more.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Fahrenheit asks about the faint scars he’s noted on Bittenfeld’s back – obvious evidence of a whip or strap. They mark him from his shoulders down to his buttocks. “If I’m to be your lover, is that something I should know about?”

Bittenfeld agrees, admits that he received discipline at the Kaiser’s orders. At that, Fahrenheit has second thoughts about joining Reinhard’s Oberkommando. “Does he whip his admirals often?”

“Only when they deserve it,” Bittenfeld assures.

“What did you do to deserve it? – surely not run from battle – I would never believe that of you.”

“No, just the opposite. I showed too much enthusiasm during a battle – had the rebels on the run, when Lord Reinhard ordered all fleets to break off their skirmishes. I didn’t break it off until I had decimated the rebels. However, that decision of mine interfered with some of the Kaiser’s stra­te­gies, and caused him some problems.”

“Well, then I agree with Lord Reinhard,” Fahrenheit retorts. “He had every right to discipline you.” Bittenfeld admits that’s true. In fact he has to admit that he wouldn’t even want to be com­man­­ded by any other superior, especially not by one who wouldn’t demand obedience.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

In the morning, Bittenfeld awakens. Sleepily he reaches for his lover, only to discover that he’s alone in bed. He frowns, becomes more alert, pushes himself up, and looks around for his truant mate.

Fahrenheit is sitting in a nearby chair, a dressing gown loosely tossed on. Bittenfeld smiles, relaxes again. “So,” he announces, “you promised me an answer this morning.”

Knees crossed, fingers tented before lips, Fahrenheit regards the man in his bed. “You kept saying I’m yours,” he reminds Bittenfeld. “Well, if we’re going to be lovers, I hope you expect an equal relationship. All right, I’m yours... now, are you mine as well?"

Bittenfeld smiles richly, takes a deep satisfied breath. “… Ohh… I’m yours,” he promises. “In all ways. Especially…” And so saying, he opens himself on the bed, hands clasped over his head submissively, knees lolled apart, offering himself completely. Fahrenheit stands up, slips the robe to the floor, naked beneath the material, then climbs into bed and takes Bittenfeld’s ass for the first time. Together they make very hot love.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Bittenfeld fingers Fahrenheit’s pale hair. “Grow your hair long,” he urges. “Grow it past your elbows. It makes me really hot to think about a curtain of white silk stroking my body – and especi­ally my cock – when I make love.”

“That’ll take several years for my hair to grow that long,” Fahrenheit reminds. “I guess you really are talking about a long-term relationship.”

“Of course I am,” Bittenfeld assures, and leans in for another few kisses.

“Ah. Well, at least that answers why you picked me out. You’ve finally decided it’s time in your life for a committed relationship, and I’ve got white hair.”

“Mm… no, that’s not the only reason I picked you out.” Another kiss.

“Oh?”

“Of course not. I’m not that shallow.” A long slow lick up the side of Fahrenheit’s face to his ear. “I like your cock and your ass as much as I like your hair.”

“Ah, well, all right then.” A mischievous little twinkle in Fahrenheit’s amused side-long gaze catches Bittenfeld’s eye. “In that case, I’m going to hold you to your word, and take you up on your offer.”

“Oh, yesss…” Bittenfeld purrs, as his tongue continues laving the side of the other man’s face.

Fahrenheit moans contentment. “Mm…yess… Of all the various lovers I’ve had in my life, I’ve never had one with orange hair. I think I’ll try you out for awhile, see if all you flame-hairs live up to your reputation.”

Abruptly Bittenfeld lifts his head. “Try me out? My soul is grievously wounded. I’m offer­ing you my heart and my body forever, and you’re just going to try me out so you can say you’ve had experience with an orange-haired lover? Ah, my soul is in pain…”

Fahrenheit rolls himself on top, pins Bittenfeld down, and begins caressing his flesh with a wet squirming tongue. “It won’t be your soul that’s in pain when I’m finished with you.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

They need Reinhard’s approval so he won’t post them at opposite ends of the galaxy for six-month patrols. They approach the Kaiser to request his blessing.

He names Bittenfeld “Loki”, god of fire – handsome, fiery, daring, mercurial. And Fahren­heit is “Hodur”, god of ice – beautiful shag of silver-white hair, quiet temper, calm cool personality. Fahrenheit reminds the Kaiser that Hodur was blind. But Reinhard just quips that Fahrenheit must be blind as well to accept Bittenfeld’s proposal.

Reinhard is amused, like Fahrenheit, by Bittenfeld’s impulsiveness and spontaneity. He asks Fahrenheit, “Do you want this as well?” Fahrenheit smiles and admits, yes, he does. To which the Kaiser has only one curious emphatic question: “Why?” Bittenfeld’s tongue is as fiery as his flam­ing orange hair. And if Fahrenheit is asking only to get out of the sexual initiation with the other admirals – surely it would be less traumatic to endure a week of that, rather than spend a lifetime with this firebrand.

But Fahrenheit admits he wants it, as impetuous a request as it was. And he’s not trying to get out of the initiation. If those are the rules, he will abide by them.

“Do you hear that, Admiral?” Reinhard nudges Bittenfeld with an amused glance. “Admiral Fahrenheit obeys my every word. Perhaps there is good reason for this union. Perhaps this beautiful ice god will cool your hot fire. How many times have you faced the lash, Bittenfeld?”

At the mention of his discipline, Bittenfeld drops to one knee before the Kaiser. “Twice, my lord,” he answers roughly.

“I seem to remember the number being three.”

“Yes, my liege.” The orange head bends lower. “But you were kind to suspend the sentence the last time. I am grateful.”

“Three times, Bittenfeld. Only twice else have I been forced to discipline my Oberkommando with the strap: Kempf once, and Turneisen once. It’s considered quite a severe punishment. If one is foolish enough to incur it once, the lesson is usually learned not to incur it again. Yet you’ve managed to bring it upon yourself three times. What have you to say?”

Bittenfeld answers, “Sometimes my enthusiasm get the better of me, my lord. At least, I have never shown cowardice in battle, but have always fought willingly at your command.”

“Yes, that’s true,” Reinhard acknowledges.

Finally the Kaiser gives his approval of the union.

* * * * * FINIS * * * * *


End file.
